


put your awful heart to song

by Japery



Series: to noise making (sing) [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Accidental Voyeurism, Age Difference, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Secret Size Queen Cale Makar, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Size Kink, Threesome - M/M/M, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 04:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18886882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Japery/pseuds/Japery
Summary: “Oh, queen you shall be, for a time.” Colesy quotes, apropos of nothing, skating up behind him to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.”“If you Game of Thrones at me again I’m sneaking into your room at night to cut off pieces of your beard and feed them to you,” EJ threatens him placidly, and he snows him as he pushes off to skate down the ice.Or:How EJ Johnson Got His Groove Back (By Having a Threesome With Two Obscenely Talented Twinks)





	put your awful heart to song

**Author's Note:**

> i don't claim to know and mean no harm to the people represented in this fic, if you found this by googling yourself or anyone you know, i'd advise you to click right on out of here.
> 
> i promised i'd write this if the avs kept me happy and instead i'm incredibly sad, but they always make me happy, you know? you don't have to read [the first one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18741778) if you don't want to, but it helps. 
> 
> thanks to [em](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springsteen/pseuds/Springsteen) and [tarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/josthockeythings/pseuds/josthockeythings) for beta-ing and [annie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalmatienne/pseuds/dalmatienne) for the sub-title, erica as always, to hozier for the title, and the avs for an incredible season: may your boys always be hot.

It’s not that EJ doesn’t like Cale. He’s not in middle school, judging the younger kids on the playground. Cale’s team now, and you don’t have to worry about whether you like the people on your team, you just have to play with them—EJ had played with Duchene for basically a year after he revealed himself to be less of an annoying but bearable wannabe youth pastor and more of a traitorous sanctimonious piece of shit who also happened to be a wannabe youth pastor. It’s just that, from what he’s seen—and EJ considers himself to be an excellent judge of character—Makar’s just kind of overrated. 

So he went to college twice as long as EJ? Big whoop. So did Compher, and EJ had watched him and Jost try to throw peas in each other’s mouths at dinner for twenty minutes last night until Josty started choking and Colin had to do the heimlich on him, and apparently all they learned from that was to move on to mashed potatoes, so forgive EJ if he didn’t think that made Makar automatically any smarter. 

So he’d won some stupid popularity contest? As annoying as they were, their social media team were great at their fucking jobs—they had to be, with everything EJ threw at them—and if they’d manage to get the entire top line into the All-Star game they could win a fan vote named after some guy EJ had never heard of. 

So he got to the Frozen Four? He didn’t even win. 

If EJ knew anything, it was that hyping someone up, defensemen especially, was just a recipe for disappointment. If wishes were horses, he’d live like a fucking king, but the world didn’t work that way. Take it from an abject disappointment, piling all your hopes onto one boy you could barely call an adult didn’t do anything but drag him down when his wax golf cart went careening into the fucking sun. 

His team doesn’t seem to get the memo. 

Gabe won’t shut up about picking him up from the hotel this morning, telling the story of how humble and level-headed Makar was with the boundless enthusiasm that only Gabe Landeskog could muster, and EJ has to suppress an eyeroll. Makar probably wasn’t even paying attention to the question, throwing Gabe some polite platitude that had nothing to do with how he was actually feeling—hell, he probably had Airpods in. 

Nate is watching him with quiet, Natelike intensity, and even Tyson’s got an eyebrow raised as they watch Cale shuttle pass after pass towards the goal. EJ focuses on his own drills and tries not to glower too much. 

“Oh, queen you shall be, for a time.” Colesy quotes, apropos of nothing, skating up behind him to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.” 

“If you Game of Thrones at me again I’m sneaking into your room at night to cut off pieces of your beard and feed them to you,” EJ threatens him placidly, and he snows him as he pushes off to skate down the ice. 

As he goes, he catches sight of Sammy, still too injured to skate the full practice, leaning against the glass in his street clothes and watching Makar, his big brown eyes wide and calculating. EJ leans up against the glass next to him, meets his gaze, and blows him a fluttering kiss through the glass. 

Sammy smiles at him, small and careful, covering his face with his hands in a way that makes it so EJ can make out the tips of his blush right under his fingertips, and something tight EJ had been holding behind his sternum loosens, just a little. 

Great as Makar supposedly was, at least he could never get that. 

//

Makar scores on his first shift, on his first shot, in his first game, and EJ is a big enough man to know when he has to reevaluate. 

EJ agrees to pay for drinks, show the kid a good time, let him loosen up a little and see if he was any more fun than the blushing porcelain doll image he put out for the world. He’s not the worst mentor in the world, even if he can’t stop his last rookie from flirting with him, and EJ figures he might as well try with Cale. 

Thing is, they can’t fucking find him. He disappears after the game, longer than his media availability, so they send EJ out to find him. 

He finds Makar in one of the side hallways, leaning against one of the concrete walls like one of those army spouses being reunited with their partners, and on the other side of him is Sammy. G is standing there, fingertips ghosting over Makar’s shoulder, eyes locked onto his like he’s the only other person in the world. 

EJ blinks and well, huh. 

Something ugly and dark flutters up from his chest as he watches Sammy smile at Makar in a way he must’ve been so stupid to think was ever just meant for him. He wants to rip them apart, laugh in their faces for—for doing what?—for flirting, like they should, like two twenty year olds who are far more appropriate for each other than whatever—

EJ puts on a smile, because that’s what he’s good for, and calls out Sam’s name.

It’s easy to treat Cale like a kid, even though he really isn’t one. He bristles under EJ’s touch, reminds him he can’t drink, like a fucking boy scout. He reminds EJ of another rookie he knew once, who hid his accent under politeness and a Ken doll smile and thought that going to bed after 11 would be the end of the world.

“Cute,” EJ says, trying to keep his tone on the mocking side of biting. “We’ll get you virgin martinis like this one over here.” He catches Sam’s eye and crooks up his smile in a way that Tyson insists is as lethally charming as it sauntering towards monstrous. Sam starts, and his breath catches satisfyingly. He emphasizes virgin more than once, sharp only for someone who knows where he keeps his knives. 

“You know I’m not a virgin.” Sammy says, lobbing it at EJ like a live grenade, and EJ catches a look at Cale that pulls the pin and sets his skin on fire. He’s thinking about it now, the two of them—he wonders for a second where they’d ever fucking meet each other—thinks about Sam’s long delicate fingers digging into the hollow of Cale’s collarbone where it peeks right out of his jersey, thinks about Sam on top of Cale, under Cale, and EJ, jealous and hungry—

EJ has to get the hell out of Dodge. He mumbles something, some excuse to push them out, and pushes past them with a lingering touch to both of their shoulders. 

//

Makar is sulking when they get to bar, for some reason, so Sam must get bored of him enough to corner EJ after he’s hand more than a couple drinks, crowding him onto the dance floor with a light tap of their hips together. 

“They play our song.” Sam says, a hint of a command to his voice. They’re playing “Old Town Road,” and EJ can’t resist the dark flutter of his eyelashes or a song with horses in it, so he follows. 

EJ’s not much of a dancer, but he’s got no self-consciousness about it, so when Sammy presses up against him when he dips it low, he leans into it. Sam dances with a singer’s rhythm, with awareness of every note and reverb, careful in his attentions to EJ’s spastic, embarrassing movements—it works, somehow. EJ thinks it works. 

Sam’s got a wrist hooked into his, and EJ can feel his heartbeat pouring into him, making him weightless. Sammy’s eyes are dark in the bright lights, his lips are cherry red, half-open like he’s about to tell a secret, and EJ knows he would ruin the world for him. 

“Mon chum.” EJ half-whispers over the music, craning over to ghost the words over Sam’s neck. 

Sammy runs his hand up over EJ’s stomach, rippling his shirt with the breeze of his fingertips before he rests them on EJ’s chest, like a claw over his heart. “Mon chummmmmmmm,” he replies, drawing out the ms into a vibrato over EJ’s shoulder. He laughs then, loud and pure and all for him. Sam is flushed red, gazing up at him, hand wrapped around the back of EJ’s neck, and all he’d have to do is pull EJ down or lean up towards him, and they could—

“Bathroom.” Sam breathes out, and EJ’s brain skids to a halt and careens into the boards. 

He follows Sammy dutifully, the younger man’s hand still warm on his neck as he guides him like a puppy towards the dimly lit hallway where the bathrooms are. EJ’s hands fit perfectly around Sam’s hip as they stumble into the hallway, and his mind races with possibility. 

He could push Sam into a stall and press him against the tile, shove a hand down his pants and wrap a hand around his cock, jack him off until he’s sputtering French and biting down into EJ’s shoulder to come over his fist. He could push him up against the door, have Sam wrap his legs around EJ’s shoulders and see how long he could eat him out and keep the door closed from anyone trying to get in. He could crowd Sam against the sinks and fall to his knees on the disgusting bathroom tile, swallow down his cock for anyone to see. 

He swings Sammy around to bracket him against the wall, Sam’s arms wrapped languidly over his shoulders, hip pressed companionably against his. If he leaned down, he could kiss him first, in the flickering light of this hallway, with nobody watching. 

“Sammy,” EJ says, his voice gruff and deep with possibility. It’s a bad idea, to let himself have what he’s been trying to pretend he hasn’t wanted for so long now, but no one ever said EJ had good ideas. “Sam.” He says, softer now. Sam’s tongue darts over his bottom lip, heavy and teasing, and EJ moves to capture the seam of lip he leaves behind, ghosts just barely over his mouth when—

“Hey, bozos!” Tyson calls out obnoxiously before he steps in to see them, and EJ jerks away so they’re sidled against the wall next to each other with just their shoulders touching. “Pause your face-hugging, alien.” Tyson tells them as he glides up, as if he’s wearing Heelys, though EJ knows for a fact that Gabe personally burned his last pair and Tyson is just doing it for stylistic effect. “Dogg was a shitty mentor and the rookie’s drunk off his ass, so someone has to take him home. Preferably someone who hasn’t also been drinking.” 

“He can’t just Uber like the rest of us?” EJ sneers, a little more harshly than he intends because Tyson raises a perfectly manicured sympathetic eyebrow at him. 

“He’s the rookie, EJ.” Tyson says pityingly, like that explains everything.

“I’ll go.” Sam volunteers, disengaging himself from EJ, the space between them suddenly feeling viciously empty. “I’ll take care of him.” 

“I can make Gabe do it—” EJ starts, but Sammy shakes his head. 

“I’ll take care of him,” He says again, more determined this time, and EJ can’t argue with him. 

EJ helps carry Cale to Sam’s car, and he’s a little bulkier than EJ imagined him, the back muscles under his shirt taut under EJ’s touch. Makar is swaying slightly on his heels, protesting the fact that he’s clearly drunk. He looks like a big red toddler, and he’s got the babyface for it. It’s kind of cute, but not as cute as he thinks it is. 

“Don’t manhandle me with your big man hands and your handy big manliness.” Cale mutters, glaring at him from the sidewalk. “I can do it myself. I went to college.” 

“I know you went to college.” EJ grits out through his teeth. 

“I went to college.” Cale says again, and he pauses, stopping just to look at EJ, something weird glinting in his sharp grey eyes. “You’re too big. All over.” He lets out a quick breath, and EJ shakes his head. “I’m not a virgin.” Cale asserts. Nate, on his other side, sputters. 

“Yeah, yeah, kid.” EJ mutters, wrapping his arm back around Cale’s shoulders as he slumps a little. One of his hands finds his way to run over EJ’s back, toying with the hem of his shirt. 

“I’m not a virgin.” Cale says again, as EJ lets Nate guide him into the passenger seat of the car. 

“Drive safe.” EJ tells Sam solemnly. “Don’t fall asleep behind the wheel.” He can’t help but add. 

Sam glares at him. “I would never. Not with him.” Sammy says, and there’s a meaning there that EJ doesn’t quite understand and doesn’t want to understand. The small of his back is still warm from where Cale was touching him, but it’s offset when Nate claps a hand over his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna get us an Uber Black.” Nate says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. 

“Ooh, high roller. Can I start calling you my sugar daddy or—” Nate punches him in the shoulder and Gabe and Tyson find him trying and failing to put EJ in a sleeper hold on the sidewalk, and Tyson rolls his eyes. 

“You’re doing it all wrong Dogg this isn’t how I taught you, you’ve gotta—” 

“All right, break it up,” Gabe starts, putting on his captain voice. 

“You’re sucking so much ref dick that you’re starting to sound like one, Landeskog!” EJ calls out gleefully, poking his head out from the pile of Nate and Tyson. Gabe sighs, rolls up the sleeves of his stupidly tight dress shirt, and jumps into the fray. 

EJ doesn’t remember much between that and waking up alone in his bedroom the next morning, boxers halfway around his ankles, crusted with come and dried lube tacky on his thigh, but that’s probably some kind of blessing.

//

Sammy and Makar start disappearing places—wandering off in the middle of team dinner in Calgary to get back to the hotel—and EJ’s pretty sure they’re sneaking off to fuck. 

“Why do you always think everyone’s always sneaking off to fuck?” Gabe asks, swirling up a spaghetti noodle in a particularly elegant way that EJ is sure making Tyson have Landy and the Tramp fantasies across the table. 

“With this team they usually are,” EJ replies glumly, rolling a meatball back and forth over his plate. 

“That’s not true,” Tyson says, mouth half full. There’s a stray piece of spaghetti on his chin that Nate is patiently eyeing to dab off with a napkin from next to him. “Nate and I sneak off all the time and we usually don’t hook up, right Dogg?”

“Nine times out of ten, sure,” Nate chirps in dutifully. Tyson holds out his arms triumphantly, sending a spaghetti noodle flying down the table and landing artfully in Kerf’s curls. Kerfy squawks indignantly, blaming the other Tyson—who, to Kerf’s credit, does actually look like he’s in the process of launching a meatball over Kerf with his spoon to JT—and grabs a meatball to shove down Josty’s shirt. 

Gabe sighs heavily as Mikko takes the opportunity to start a food fight. 

“If they’re into each other, I don’t see the problem,” Gabe tells him quietly, as everyone around them devolves into accosting each other with spaghetti. EJ smiles at him and shrugs slightly. 

“There’s no problem,” EJ responds a little too curtly, readjusting to lob his meatball towards Gravy’s head. “They’re adults, they can do what they want. You’re the one with the problem. Control your team. Barrie for Captain.” He launches the meatball, snorting as it hits its target and smashes satisfyingly into the side of Gravy’s pretty boy face.

“Well, watch yourself,” Gabe warns, ducking a piece of garlic bread from Sven that lands on Soda’s plate next to him. Soda looks at it solemnly, picks it up with his fork, and starts to eat it without a word. “You’re being more of a dick than usual,” Gabe tells him. He considers, for a moment, and flicks a noodle towards EJ with his fork. 

“Can’t help it, dick’s too huge,” EJ says, and then he lunges in to catch the noodle in his mouth like a dog just to see the look on Gabe’s face. 

// 

EJ stumbles out of his hotel room shower and plops down onto the starched white sheets still naked and only half-dry. He’d had to scrub marinara sauce off of his chest, and he’s suddenly bone-tired, every hit and block from this series slamming into him at once. His joints ache with phantom pain, and he suddenly feels exhausted, and impossibly old. 

The room is quiet except for some muffled noises in the room adjacent to his—Cale and Sam’s new room, EJ notes, staring at the empty bed on the other side of his room. 

He thinks about getting his laptop and his headphones from his bag on the armchair so he can jack off for once, now that he doesn’t have Sammy staying up late watching weird French Canadian reality shows next to him, and they feel a thousand miles away right now. 

Instead, he turns himself over, dragging a hand absentmindedly over his stomach to wrap around his dick, taking a deep breath and stroking himself languidly to get himself hard. 

He tries to think about something safe, like his last hook-up. It had been—god, had it really been that long?—He’d been at a horse show in Florida during a break between games, and they’d had an open bar. 

The bartender was a short, broad man with dark, swoopy hair, grey eyes, and a nice smile who laughed at EJ’s jokes about stallions and didn’t know anything about hockey. He’d had a pretty mouth that was even prettier around EJ’s dick, and the memory of it is a good one as he stripes his hand up and down his cock. He settles his hand at the base and licks the other, laying it flat over the lengthening side of his dick as he runs his thumb in circles over the head. 

The bartender was Polish, which was close enough to French, and he whispered sweet things into EJ’s shoulders as he fucked up into him, tight and hot and—

There’s a banging against the wall behind him, and another, and another, a rhythmic pattern of knocking and creaking that EJ—pupils blown wide, realizes is a headboard slamming against the wall. The muffled noises from the other side of the wall resolve themselves into gasps and moans, and EJ recognizes the deep timbre of Cale’s voice wandering in through the vent, husky and fucked out at it was— 

“Fuck, Sam, baby, fuck—” Makar sputters, clear enough in the silence of EJ’s room, and EJ’s dick thickens to full hardness in his hands. EJ keeps stroking in spite of himself, bucking up into his hand with a groan cut off between his teeth. 

Makar’s fucking Sammy in the other room—feet if not inches away from EJ, if the thinness of these walls any indication—slamming him rhythmically against the headboard. Unconsciously, EJ starts to time his strokes with the sound of the headboard hitting the wall, jacking himself off in time to Makar fucking into EJ’s rookie. 

He pictures it, Makar’s broad, boxy shoulders bearing down on Sammy, Sam’s long, graceful legs wrapped around Makar’s waist as Makar fucks him. Cale mouthing at Sam’s neck, trying to muffle himself but not being to help it as he spills praise out over the Frenchman’s pale, perfect skin. 

Sam keens loudly through the vent, and EJ has to take a hand from his cock to bring up to his mouth to stifle his groans. He laps at his own fingers, imagining how Sammy would look between Makar’s legs, looking up at him through dark, delicate eyelashes. 

“God, Sam, harder, fuck me, please!” EJ hears, and his pupils blow out wide. Oh. Oh. 

He brings his hand down from his mouth, his fingers wet with his own saliva. He drags them down his thighs, spreading his legs a little to rub his thumb in circles over his hole experimentally. EJ hasn’t been fucked in, gosh a while, most guys just assuming by his size and general personality that he’d prefer to top, and he does, mostly, but—

Makar chokes out another, filthy sounding moan as Sammy fucks him into the headboard enough to make the wall rattle on the other side. 

EJ presses his thumb inside of himself, trying to stretch himself out with the thumb and another finger. He doesn’t have enough lube for this, and he curses himself for not thinking to grab one before he had a finger crooked inside himself listen to his rookie fuck the actual rookie’s brains out. 

EJ thinks about what it’d be like, fucking Cale. The blush, spread down to the tips of his toes as he slammed in, tip to base, breaking every veneer of Canadian politeness as he fucked him stupid, got him grasping against the hotel sheets in his own hometown. 

He thinks about what’d it be like, Sammy fucking him. So much smaller, bracketed between EJ’s thighs, looking at him with those dark, focused eyes the whole time as he takes EJ apart, slamming against his hips with quick, determined movements. He wonders if he fucks like he dances, and it sounds like he does. EJ arches his fingers up into himself, desperately trying to push up against his prostate as he pushes against his own headboard, making a mess of the sheets in front of him. 

Cale starts to groan louder, more frequently, and Sam does too, their sounds getting sloppier and more erratic until they muffle out completely.

EJ arches his hips, bucking into himself as he fucks his own hand, striping it recklessly as he gets himself off. He comes all over his stomach and chest, harder than he has in months. 

EJ catches his own breath, wrapped up in his own sheets and the sound of the empty hotel room, Cale and Sam’s and noises disappeared behind the wall, and realizes he probably has to take another shower. 

//

It’s a bad idea, wanting to fuck your rookies—and it’s both of them now, EJ realizes, catching himself watching them together, catching the stretch of Sammy’s shirts over his biceps or the curve of Cale’s ass in his shorts. It’s a bad idea, and EJ’s adult enough to know when to quit it. 

They go to a Nuggets game, and Sammy’s wearing a cowboy hat, and EJ upsizes his beer, and orders a can for good measure. 

He puts the hat on Cale, and they look like they’re going to make out right there in the stands of the Pepsi Center. EJ downs his entire drink in one go, and starts in on the other. 

Gabe’s too drunk himself to look too concerned, but he knows it’s there when he looks at him. 

// 

They start the San Jose series, and they put Sammy with Cale, and EJ with Colesy. EJ’s known it’s been coming since Cale showed up in Denver, that they wanted to see how the young guns did together. EJ can’t tell them that he does too, just off the ice. 

Of course, he can’t tell them anything, because he’s playing like dogshit. 

The Sharks know he’s a mess, so they take advantage of him, stripping the puck from him like he hasn’t been doing this for years. He’s slow, and lumbering. There’s a tweak to his shoulder that isn’t bad enough to stop playing but still won’t go away and he should tell the trainers about it but he’s bad enough that he doesn’t want to give them an excuse to kick him out entirely and bring in a Nova Scotian pretty boy to replace him. 

Every time he looks at Colesy, he hears him saying, “Younger and more beautiful queen,” and it makes him want to punch him in the face, even if he’s being banged up enough these playoffs. 

He watches video after video, and commentators heap praise on Cale and Sammy, and the voices they use for him—knowing you’ve been an abject disappointment doesn’t help when other people talk like you are. 

EJ lingers in the showers after the game, long after everyone else. Tyson pats his ass sadly as he goes, leaving EJ there pressing his forehead against the tile of his shower and letting the water cascade over his back, half hoping the water will dissolve him and he’ll disappear into the sewers forever like he deserves.

“Johnson? You’re still in here?” Comes a voice, and of course, EJ thinks, closing his eyes tighter and pushing his forehead against the tile like it would hide him, Makar is still here too. 

He’d had to have spent extra long with the media or the trainers or something, to only be getting to a shower now, but EJ roots himself to his spot to avoid looking at Makar as he shrugs off his towel and takes the showerhead next to him. 

“These are big showers, Makar.” EJ says, warningly, still keeping his eyes tightly closed. 

“Are you all right?” Makar asks him softly, and EJ can feel his look of concern as he turns the shower on. EJ sighs, pressing his hand against the wall to brace himself. 

“Just peachy.” EJ says dryly. “He was too old. It was too far. He was just too old.” He says, dark and bitter. Cale quiets for a second. 

“Is that a reference to something?” Makar asks, and EJ groans, hitting his forehead against the tile twice, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough that the rattle drowns out the chasm of his own thoughts. 

“Oh my god,” EJ says despairingly, clunking his forehead onto the tile again. 

“You’re thirty.” Cale scoffs, the weight of his gaze heavy all over EJ. 

“I’m thirty-one. You’re a teenager.” EJ reminds him, and Cale scoffs again.

“I’m twenty, and you’re young enough to play with me. You’re young enough, and good enough, that I—” Cale stops himself, his breath catching, and his breath seems to shudder as he steels himself. “Johnson. EJ. Erik.” He tries out the last one, hesitating just a little, and that makes EJ turn to finally look at him. Cale is wet from the shower, obviously, the water cascading over his shoulders and pooling in rivulets over his abs as they drag down his thighs past his thick, solid cock. He’s flushed from the heat of the water, but EJ can tell he’s blushing from the tips of his ears and a long way down from there. Cale looks at him, eyes hungry as he takes in EJ’s body. “When I was drafted, I pulled up a bunch of your highlights and your interviews because I knew I wanted to be your partner, and I jacked off to so many of them.” 

EJ’s mouth falls open, and his cock stirs. Cale looks like he’s struggling his own embarrassment as he confesses, but there’s a determined look in his eyes as he continues. “You’re huge, and hot, and way more talented than anyone would ever give you credit for. So you had a couple of bad games? There’s thousands of fans out there still ready to suck your dick anyway, just to see you smile.” Cale pauses, licks his lips again, stare roving down EJ’s body to settle over his cock. “I’m one of them,” Cale admits, and EJ lets out a little hiss of breath. 

“But, Sammy,” he starts, and Cale shrugs sheepishly, his blush getting deeper. 

“I’m going against the plan here, we wanted to do this together—” Cale starts, shaking his head, and that’s a lot. “But it sucks—seeing you talk about yourself like that—and if I have to suck... to suck you off until you stop doing that, I will, okay?” He waves a hand towards EJ, cutting through the water, and he’s offering. 

EJ can’t help but nod. “Okay.” He says, and Cale sinks to his knees. 

He braces one hand on EJ’s thigh and licks down the shaft of his hardening cock, swirling his tongue over his head as he maps it out. “God, you’re huge all over.” Cale says, reverently, looking up at EJ with shiny grey eyes as he tries to take in as much of EJ down his throat as he can. He gags a little on his first attempt, and EJ lays a hand protectively on the back of his neck to warn him off. 

“Cale, you don’t have to—” EJ starts, and Cale shakes his head, coughing a little. 

“No, I’m doing it, Erik.” He says, determined, twisting his hand into a fist and taking a deep breath before trying again, and his mouth is warm and wet as Cale takes his cock down to the base. Cale taps EJ’s thigh with his knuckles triumphantly when he does, pushing EJ’s back against the shower wall, and lets himself get used to it for a few seconds before going in on him in earnest. Cale is enthusiastic, but not in an inexperienced kind of way, savoring the size and heft of EJ’s cock over his tongue as EJ fucks into his mouth, not too hard but hard enough to please Cale as he murmurs his approval against EJ’s cock. 

Cale’s hand comes up to play with EJ’s balls, the other petting at the soft downy hair on his thigh. EJ starts to rub his hand in circles over Cale’s neck, move his fingers up to thread in his hair, and Cale hums around him appreciatively. EJ is blissed out and pliable under Cale’s ministrations, and Cale is eager and attentive on him. 

“Makars?” Someone calls out into the showers, voice echoing through the presumably empty locker room, and EJ tenses. He tries to pull off, but Cale’s hand tightens against his thigh to keep EJ rooted deep down his throat. Sam turns the corner, squinting through the steam, and EJ meets his eye from across the showers. 

“Hey, G,” EJ greets, face hot and flushed. Cale sucks in a breath, hot and tight against the side of his dick, and shoots Sammy a peace sign. 

Sammy looks at the two of them, eyes wide, and makes a soft, affirmative noise. He slips off his shoes, shrugs his jacket off his shoulders and pulls his phone, wallet, and keys out of his pockets, setting them all carefully down on the shower bench before he walks towards them. The water soaks into his shirt, plastering the thin fabric over his muscles as he rubs an appreciative hand over Cale’s back as he pulls EJ down by the shoulder and into a kiss. 

“Finally.” He murmurs against EJ’s mouth, fingers running reverently through EJ’s hair. “Mon chum.” He greets, before licking into the seam of EJ’s mouth, kissing him breathless and Cale continues to work his throat around his cock. Sam kisses over his jaw and down his chest, latching his mouth over each of EJ’s nipples in turn, flicking his tongue over them in quick, greedy circles. 

Slowly, Sammy sinks down to his knees next to Cale, and pulls him off of EJ’s cock—the loss of the previously unrelenting pressure making EJ groan a little—and EJ gets to watch as Sam kisses Cale, hungry and exacting. Cale moans against Sam’s mouth, relaxing into the familiarity of the kiss. 

“Babe, his dick is huge!” Cale tells him, voice a little hoarse but still half-giddy. “I knew it would be huge!” Sam chuckles a little, glancing at EJ’s cock, glistening with Cale’s spit. 

“You get started without me,” Sammy admonishes him softly. Cale’s face falls a little. 

“Sorry, he needed it,” Cale explains. Sam looks up at EJ expectantly, who just shrugs a little. 

“I don’t need anything or anyone,” EJ lies. Sammy rolls his eyes, and kisses Cale again. EJ watches them make out again, absently wondering if he might need to wrap a hand around his dick while he waits before Sam guides Cale by the chin so the head of EJ’s cock slides in between their lips, and suddenly he’s got two mouths lavishing his cock. 

“Oh Jesus Christ!” EJ curses as the two of them descend on him, Cale lapping eagerly at one side of his cock while Sammy lays an expert, exploratory mouth over the other. There’s enough difference between their—dick-sucking styles, EJ guesses—that he can tell between them at first: Cale enthusiastic and eager to please, Sam careful and reveling in every sound he draws from EJ. 

Sam starts to suck him, taking him down his throat with practiced ease as Cale goes down lower to lick at his balls and the underside of his cock when Sam pulls off. EJ notices Sam’s hand find its way to wrap around Cale’s cock and Cale pull Sammy’s soaked-through shorts down to do the same to his partner. Sam’s throat is tight and warm and everything he imagined, laying hot and heavy over his cock. EJ’s hands find their way onto both of their heads, pushing them with light insistence as he gets closer and closer to the edge. 

“Boys, I’m—” EJ starts, his grip tightening through Sam’s soft curls and Cale’s wavy hair. His voice is gruff and deep, enough to get Sam to pull off of him and nudge Cale towards another kiss over the head of EJ’s cock. They hook their tongues around him to lick into each other’s mouths, enough sensation to blank out every stray thought in EJ’s head and send him coming over their lips, into their mouths, painting their faces. 

It’s quite a sight looking up at them, faces covered in his come, and he can’t help but pull them both up, kissing each of them in turn—first Sam, then Cale. He lingers kissing Cale, trying to figure out how to lean into him so he likes it, getting a satisfied murmur as he licks his own come off Cale’s lips, and without any preamble, he wraps one big hand around both of their cocks and jacks them off, still leaning against the wall, until they spill into his fist, Cale gasping and Sammy muttering in French. 

He licks his palms before the water washes the come away, savoring the taste of both of them, and smiles. 

“I’m so glad I got to kiss you.” Cale blurts out, still trying to catch his breath as he pulls himself up. “Sam got to kiss you and all I could think about was that I had your dick in my mouth but I hadn’t kissed you yet and—” 

EJ smiles wider, and leans down to kiss him quiet. “Does he always talk this much after sex?” He asks Sammy, who is pulling at his wet clothes uncomfortably. 

“Yes, but he’s easy to shut up.” Sam teases, and Cale turns red again. 

They’re the last ones of the Pepsi Center and the last ones in the parking lot when they go. Sammy borrows some extra clothes from both of them to replace his sodden ones, and EJ’s shirt is absolutely huge on him but the six hanging loosely over his heart matching the eight pulled tight against his thigh look good enough that nobody really minds. Sammy presses him against the side of his car and kisses him again before he leaves, and Cale steals another, fluttering one after him. Cale figures he’s got to get back to the Calverts’ soon before they start to worry, and Sam is his ride, so they regretfully have to leave EJ alone. 

It’s probably not very conventional, getting two obscenely talented twinks to blow him until he got his groove back, but EJ’ll take it. 

Those two probably knocked a few check marks out of a new relationship, hooking up with an older guy in the locker room showers and all. EJ had unfortunately never been able to do that with any of his old boyfriends, but had he known it was an option at twenty-one he probably would’ve taken it. 

// 

EJ doesn’t expect it to happen again. They all got it all out of their systems, and they’re better for it. He goes to the training session with Calvert and the Black Aces to get back into his skating form, and he plays his heart out in Game Four for the Pepsi Center, finally keeping up with the puck and keeping shots from getting anywhere near the net enough to get Grubi the shutout. He hasn’t quite figured out the best way to tell the story to the other guys in a way that wouldn’t get Gabe to blow a gasket and he and Tyson arguing over how repressed Gabe was for half an hour, but he’s working on it.

“Any reason Moomin and Snufkin keep looking at us?” Tyson asks, pausing from where he’s fishing fruit out of his sangria with his straw to feed to Nate. EJ raises an eyebrow and glances towards where he’s gesturing. Sam and Cale are sitting together, sharing something fruity and poking each other with the umbrella. He’s been giving them space to be a couple for the last couple days, and it seems like they’ve been taking it. Tyson probably just thinks everyone’s looking at him all the time, and EJ tells him so, to Tyson’s indignation. 

“Which one’s Moomin and which one’s Snufkin?” Gabe pipes up curiously. Tyson considers this. 

“G’s Moomin, cause he’s French.” 

Mikko stops trying to steal the sangria-soaked pineapple Nate is eating and scrunches up his nose. “Moomin is Finnish,” he says declaratively. 

Tyson rolls his eyes. “God, not everything’s Finnish, Rants.” Mikko puffs up indignantly, like some kind of bird. 

“No, I’m pretty sure Moomin’s Finnish. Well, the author is Finnish,” Gabe says diplomatically. Tyson looks righteously aggrieved at Gabe’s betrayal, and sends a furious look towards Nate. Nate swallows his pineapple and shrugs. 

“I don’t know what a Moomin is, Tyson,” he says, and Tyson makes an anguished noise. 

“What does Moomin mean in French, Tys?” Gabe asks, halfway between reasonable and clearly reveling in the opportunity to rile Tyson up. 

“Like hippo, or something, I don’t know, I’m not French!” 

“You do look a little like a French hippo,” EJ supplies, and Nate has to hold Tyson back from throwing his drink at him. 

“Cale is better Moomin. Sammy have Snufkin energy,” Mikko says so authoritatively that none of them can actually disagree. 

EJ can feel a pair of eyes on him as he leaves the bar to pack before they have to board the plane, but he figures it’s just because he’s big and hot, and doesn’t think anything more of it. 

//

He’s woken up by a knocking at his hotel room door at one in the morning, and pads blearily to answer it in his underwear. Tyson’s probably stayed up watching Moomins or something and has receipts for his theories, and EJ’s ready to fuck off when he’s faced with Cale and Sam, looking huffy. 

Sammy doesn’t give him a chance to speak before he’s pushing him back into the hallway of his hotel room by his chest, Cale closing the door behind them. 

“You are avoiding us. Why?” Sam demands, his hand warm against EJ’s chest as he marches into his hotel room proper to examine his empty sheets and the untouched bed on the other side. “You are not fucking anyone else to be not fucking us,” Sammy says definitively, and there’s something a little threatening about it. 

“Can you avoid us after I get your big dick in me?” Cale asks, a little wistful. He runs his own hand over EJ’s chest to ghost over his bulge in his boxers. “That’d be dope.” 

“No avoiding us,” Sammy declares, and Cale looks at him fondly. 

“Um.” EJ says, at a loss for words, for once. He doesn’t think he has been avoiding them, more than keeping a respectful distance until it got less awkward, unless-- “I didn’t think you two wanted me more than once?” 

Sam groans and says something presumably rude and disparaging in French. This is the most worked up EJ’s ever seen Sammy, and he’s seen him in playoffs OT and with EJ’s dick in his mouth. Cale looks at EJ curiously, and it’s a little like he did that night in the showers.

“Dude,” Cale says, a little pityingly. “We blew you because we care about you.” Sammy nods in agreement. 

Oh. 

“Oh,” EJ says. “Do you—do you still?” 

“Oh my god, babe, he’s so dumb,” Cale tells Sam, who just rolls his eyes and takes off his shirt, throwing it at EJ. 

EJ catches it instinctively, and Sam uses it to pull EJ towards the bed, pushing him onto it with surprising force. He throws off his shorts, and crawls between EJ’s legs to kiss him relentlessly. He murmurs in French over EJ’s lips and neck, hand knotting in his hair and pulling hard as he finds a space above EJ’s collarbone and bites a mark into it. 

“Idiot,” Sammy says, scraping his teeth at the mark to make it bigger. “Ours. Our idiot.” EJ hisses out a breath under the weight of him, but he doesn’t really want to dispute any of it. “Makars.” Sam calls for Cale. “Sit on his face.”

Cale shows up behind Sam, kicking off his own jeans, and smiles brightly. “Gotcha.” He says, as Sam pulls EJ’s boxers off and throws them across the room. He latches onto EJ’s cock with vicious efficiency, intent on sucking his soul out of his dick. “You cool with eating out, babe?” Cale asks, and it takes EJ a second to realize he’s referring to him this time. EJ nods, a little too vigorously. Cale just beams at him and bounds over to wrap his legs around his shoulders. Before he does, though, EJ decides to go for broke. 

“G?” Sam looks up, EJ’s cock still partway in his mouth. “Do you mind fucking me tonight?” 

Sam slides off of his cock and smiles. “That was always the plan, yes,” and pulls EJ down so his ass sits perfectly at the end of the bed. Cale snorts, and carefully positions himself over EJ’s face. His hole is tight and pretty, just like EJ imagined it. He brings his hands up on each cheek to spread Cale’s hole open a little more, and licks his lips, before swirling his tongue in a circle around Cale’s hole. Cale lets out a satisfyingly slutty little groan as EJ starts to lap hungrily at his hole, opening him up with his tongue.

At the same time, he feels something cold against his own hole, as Sam laves lube over his fingers and EJ’s thighs. His fingers press insistently as EJ’s hole, one of his fingers sliding in easily, crooking into him before being replaced by Sam’s probing tongue. Sam cycles like that, between his tongue and his fingers, getting EJ panting against Cale’s hole. 

Cale wriggles above him, bracing himself against the headboard as he bears down on EJ’s face. “We should’ve—fuck—we should’ve brought him the cowboy hat,” Cale gasps out, and Sam pauses with two fingers knuckle deep in EJ’s ass. 

“Next time,” he says, and EJ agrees, murmuring against Cale’s hole. 

“Yeehaw,” he recites dutifully, before plunging his tongue deep into Cale. 

Cale chokes up, and Sammy laugh vibrates against EJ’s ass, but they manage to respond. “Hawyee,” they say, not quite at the same time with how they’re both kind of busy, but close enough to be pleasing. 

“Okay, Erik, time to fuck me,” Cale says, pupils blown out and absolutely buzzing as he lifts himself off of EJ’s mouth to plop down next to him, and EJ’s feeling about the same. “Where’re your condoms?” He asks, and EJ’s face falls. 

“I, uh, don’t have any?” Cale raises an eyebrow, and Sammy mirrors it from between EJ’s legs. “I didn’t think I was gonna get laid in San Jose!” EJ says defensively. 

“You had two guys blow you in a shower like yesterday and you still want to pretend like you don’t have any game?!” Cale’s voice cracks a little, and Sam curses. 

“Mine are,” Sammy starts, wiping his mouth with his arm. “Too small.” EJ thinks about being a little smug at that, and decides against it. Cale pouts a little, and crosses his arms. 

“I had to get tested before I joined the team,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “I’m clean.” 

He looks at Sam, and then then at EJ, and Sammy nods. EJ does too. They got tested at the same time, before the playoffs. “Do you trust me?” EJ asks. 

Cale nods, “Of course,” at the same time Sam says, “Always.” 

“All right, then,” EJ says, meeting eyes with Sammy. “Throw me the lube.” He commands, in his best alternate captain voice, which is like a captain voice but a little rowdier, and Sam does. EJ flicks it open and spreads a liberal amount over his cock, pulling Cale in by the leg to finger his already still licked open hole a little looser for good measure. Sammy returns to lapping at EJ’s hole as Cale squirms underneath EJ’s hand, and they both declare they’re ready in the same moment. 

Sam lines himself up with EJ’s hole as Cale prepares to lower himself down on EJ’s cock, and they lean over to kiss each other before they do. Cale is still halfway suspended in the air, braced only by his arm on one side and EJ holding him up by his thigh, just flexible enough to turn back and kiss Sam behind him. 

It’s a bit of an awkward angle, Cale pushing down to ride EJ’s cock as Sam lazily fingers EJ, only working by the grace of their athleticism and just how big EJ is. It’s unbelievably hot, and EJ still can’t believe these two want to fuck him. Cale is impossibly tight as he tries to take all of him in, but he’s determined, savoring every inch with an ecstatic aplomb. As he reaches the base, thighs pressed around EJ’s waist, he arches down to kiss EJ, almost giddy at the feeling of EJ shifting inside him as he does so. 

Sam waits to see Cale all the way on EJ before he starts to push in, replacing his fingers with his long, slender cock. EJ’s breath catches, and every inch of him is on fire with the sensation, Cale Makar wrapped around his cock and Sam Girard fucking into him. It’s almost too much, and EJ feels like he’s about to burst as they establish a rhythm, EJ arching up into Cale and bearing down to get more of Sam in him. 

Both of them are talking, almost absolute gibberish from Cale and French from Sam that probably is about the same, Cale gasping out about how big EJ is, and how good it is to be here with Sam. EJ gets his free hand around Cale’s cock, gripping him tight and stroking him in time as Cale’s hips slam down on top of him. Sam, after some determination, finds EJ’s prostate and makes sure to hammer it with his cock, sending EJ into a vibrating mess as he tries to keep pace with Cale.

Cale pulls up and down his cock slowly, the head of EJ’s cock just barely catching on the rim of his hole before he fucks himself back down to get EJ pushing against his own prostate, and he’s the one that comes first, out from EJ’s grip and over EJ’s chest, mixing up into his hair, pearling on the mark Sam left on his skin. 

The sight of Cale coming all over EJ from over Cale’s shoulder gets Sam, who buries himself deep into EJ to fill him up, and EJ can feel his come leak out over the inside of his thighs. Sam gets his hands on Cale’s shoulders, working to ease him down over EJ’s cock, whispering encouragement to both of them in French, and it doesn’t take long before Cale’s hole tightens around him in just the right way to milk the come from EJ, flooding him full. 

Cale pulls off of him, breathless and dripping, and the both of them fall in a heap on top of him, kissing him and each other at every angle they can.

They lay like that together, messy with each other, for a while, until a thought occurs to EJ. 

“You really jacked off over my interviews?” He asks Cale, who turns bright red. EJ nuzzles his nose into the part where his blush meets his cheeks. 

“You’re really hot.” Cale says, honestly, sputtering a little. Sam lays a kiss over his collarbone, and swats at EJ’s thigh. 

“I do it too, sometimes.” 

“Oh, yeah?” EJ asks, raising an eyebrow smugly. “Anyone else’s?” 

Both his boys groan, and try to kiss him quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> and then they sprain ej's shoulder celebrating sammy's 21st birthday in vegas and cale has to spend the summer taking care of him because they're idiots 
> 
> peace, check me out on [tumblr](https://samgirard.tumblr.com)


End file.
